


pour some tea for two

by grungerofgotham



Series: the only way it could have happened [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Getting Together, His name is Maggot!, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pre-Relationship, but who cares amirite, for flavor, i cant remember if gerry is canonically good looking, non-binary Michael, theres a cat!, warnings and rating will probably change, with a dash of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grungerofgotham/pseuds/grungerofgotham
Summary: michael acquires a cat
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Series: the only way it could have happened [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661791
Comments: 49
Kudos: 239





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of Michael having a cat has plagued me and i could not sleep till i wrote this. It will be multi-chaptered and will be one of a two part series. Title from No Rain by Blind Melon.

Michael had always considered himself a bit of a dog person, really. He’d never had one of course, always finding himself in too-expensive too-small London flats that just couldn’t accommodate them both. Well he could move out of London, he supposes, but the hassle of the move would be rather too much stress on top of his work at the institute, and he could commute but he’d never been much for trains either, and there’s this lovely little café on his way to work that he would really rather miss if he’d move and-

The point is that if anyone had asked him if he preferred cats or dogs he would have said dogs, without hesitation.

So when he nearly breaks his neck tripping over a rather battered old moggy early on a Monday at the Institute, he really doesn’t expect to fall in love.

“Oh, hello?” Michael says to it, still sprawled on the floor and holding a tentative hand out to where its now crouching behind a stack of boxes. The thing is clearly a stray, with matted fur, tattered ears and only half a tail to its name. Michael doesn’t have matted fur, though his hair is rather hard to control at times, and he doesn’t have half a tail either, or any tail in fact, but he feels something of a kinship with this skittish thing.

It sniffs his hand with great interest before trilling and skidding off down the hall. Or it would have if it didn’t run into the waiting hands of dark figure.

Michael scrambles to his feet, flustered by the unexpected presence. No one is in earlier than Michael. He makes sure of it; he has to get the kettle boiled.

But the person he comes to face is not a co-worker, or at least not one he has met. And he is certainly not someone who should have access to the Archives.

The man looks… tired. Michael _could_ make note of any other aspect of his appearance like his bad dye job or his seemingly innumerable eye tattoos, but Michael just sees a very tired man before him, someone who really looks in need of a good cup of tea.

“I see you’ve met Maggot,” the man says, holding the cat in a way that suggests that he’s never done so before. Michael would like to take the cat into his own hands, if only for its safety.

“I beg your pardon? Did you say Ma-? How did you get in h-? Maggot? That’s a horrible name? Why, uh, why, um… Sorry, who are you?” Michael really needs to pull himself together. He pauses to straighten his sweater and tuck his hair behind his ears, and tries again.

“I’m not sure you have the clearance to be down here” he says drawing himself to his full height, a good few inches taller than the man, “Sir.”

He regards Michael slowly, black rimmed eyes making him feel rather more seen that he’s felt in a while. He cracks a small smile, and huffs a laugh, like something Michael said had been funny. “I’m Gerard. I know Gertrude.”

Gertrude does have a fair few… alternative acquaintances, Michael supposes. He relaxes and says “Well, alright. She’s not in at the moment, uh, would you like to wait for her?” He makes to usher him towards the break room, “Would you like some tea?”

Michael would really like to get this man a cup of tea.

Gerard looks at Michael, and it feels as if he’s weighing his options. Michael wonders what those options are.

Eventually he says, “You know, I would like some tea, thank you, Michael,” and unceremoniously drops the cat to the floor.

It doesn’t occur to Michael until later that he’d never given Gerard his name.

*

Michael is humming lightly, busying himself with making two mugs of tea when Gerard speaks from behind him.

“Do you wanna keep that cat by any chance?”

“Oh, me?” Michael starts, “I’m not really big on pets really, but I mean, I suppose, I wouldn’t be terribly opposed to the idea. I mean of course, I’d have to rearrange a few things in my flat, and how expensive even is cat food, and- what?”

Gerard is looking at him in a strange manner.

At Michael’s pause his eyebrows rise, “What?”

“You were just, uh, looking at me funny,” Michael feels his face heat slightly before placing a mug before the other man. He shakes his head and waves his hand vaguely, feeling unsure of himself.

Gerard looks thoughtful before sighing and running a hand through his hair, drawing the mug to him, “Sorry- I don’t think I’ve met anyone new in a while. Not properly at least.” He says ‘properly’ with an odd quirk that suggests that it might not mean what Michael thinks it should.

“Oh well! No time like the present!” Michael says, injecting what he feels is a proper amount of cheer into his tone.

Gerard just gives him another one of those looks, but this time with something approaching a smile and Michael can’t help but think he looks rather handsome now that he’s had some tea. He still looks tired, and his hair is still dyed quite terribly, but his fingers look sturdy wrapped around that cup and all those piercings and eyeliner are actually somewhat… endearing. He’s really not that terrible to look at, actually.

 _Oh no, Michael_ , Michael tells himself, _you cannot go falling for this strange cat wielding goth. You don’t even know his last name!_

“So…” Gerard begins, tapping his black nails against the table, “about that cat?”

*

“You really are quite disgusting, aren’t you Maggie?” Michael says as he sweeps up some of the kitty litter the cat had managed to kick onto the floor. “Well that’s alright I suppose we can’t all be beautiful and clean, and dark, and mysterious, and- and don’t look at me like that!”

Maggot chirps and winds itself around Michael's legs.

“How about a bath at least, though?”

Maggot is out of sight before Michael finishes the sentence.

*

Gerard is in the Archives a few days after, seemingly exiting Gertrude's office after a rather heated argument with her. Michael thinks he must know her better than he thought if he’s able to survive a row with her. He sees Michael approaching from down the hall and smoothes his expression into something that might be an attempt at neutrality.

“Michael,” he nods ‘casually’, “how’s Maggot?” his hair is tossed up into a bun today, Michael notices.

“Resisting a bath, unfortunately. Keeps leaving rather dirty patches on my sofa and bringing in worms from somewhere. Not quite sure where because I haven’t let it out of the flat, but it’s bloody frustrating, I’ll tell you…” Michael trails off with an awkward giggle as he realises he might have started to ramble. He really can’t help but ramble, especially when Gerard is wearing such a wonderfully tight shirt…

Gerard chuckles at his nervous monologuing. “Never considered animals might be avatars before,” he shares a wry smile with himself.

“Pardon?” Michael cocks his head to the side. Gerard says some proper odd things.

"Oh, nothing! Take care Michael.”

With that Gerard grips Michael’s shoulder lightly and turns to leave. In the haze of Gerard having touched him, Michael kicks himself for not asking why Gerard had had Maggot in the first place.

*

Michael sees Gerard every now and again at the Institute over the next month or so, and on one precious occasion at a local pub, whereupon seeing a gathering of institute employees, he makes brief eye contact and beats a hasty retreat. Michael can’t pretend that didn’t hurt, just a little.

Michael wouldn’t fool himself by considering Gerard a friend. He may be a little lonely sometimes, and sometimes he might wish for a handsome goth to stick around the institute just a little bit longer, perhaps a little bit later, so that they might be alone, after everyone’s gone home, and there couldn’t possibly be any excuses to leave on an uneventful Tuesday evening, so that they might just talk, and get to know each other and-

Well, he may be a little lonely.

Maggot helps with that, actually. After a rather expensive trip to the vet to make sure those worms weren’t actually coming from inside him, it was determined that Maggie was in fact a male cat, and a very handsome boy under all that grime, yes, he is!

Michael can’t bring himself to name him something more appropriate once the smell had finally stopped clinging to his fur. It was the name that Gerard had given him after all.

So yes, Maggie does help with the loneliness, because it really does get to Michael sometimes, that Gerard isn’t quite his friend.

*

“So why did you name him Maggot then?”

Gerard is waiting for Gertrude again. He’s been doing that quite a lot lately. Sometimes, now this might be wishful thinking, but sometimes, Michael thinks Gerard might want to see him as well, because he arrives at the institute well before Gertrude ever has, certainly well before she would reasonably be in her office.

 _No_ , Michael says to his reflection, on some occasions, _you can’t go allowing yourself to hope like that, Michael, you know how you get hurt over it!_

Whatever the case, Gerard is waiting for Gertrude, and Michael has made them tea, and Gerard is drinking it, and this makes Michael happy, for now.

“It was eating some maggots when I found it in an alley.” Gerard picks at his nails, and some of the black flakes off, causing him to purse his lips and lay his hands flat on the table, pointedly leaving his nails alone.

“He was eating maggots?”

“Well he was eating something maggot-y.”

“What were you doing in that alley?”

“That’s a nice sweater, Michael, where did you get it?”

Michael can’t bring himself to worry about the abrupt change in subject when he blushes and plucks at the heather grey sweater. “Oh! My sister bought me this; she said it would-“

“-bring out your eyes?” Gerard sips his tea and avoids looking up.

Oh! A compliment, tha-

_Oh._

Michael can feel his brain whirring faster and faster to produce a response, but none is forth coming. _This is your chance, Michael, this is your chance!_

“That’s gay,” he says, and immediately turns scarlet.

Gerard chokes on his drink and laughs loudly through the tea dripping from his nose, curling forward to avoid it spilling onto his dark clothes.

Michael is rewarded with a toothy smile and he thinks he might genuinely catch fire.

*

“Maggie I really do hope he was laughing with me, not at me. He wouldn’t do that would he? I mean he may put up a tough front, but he is rather a good person underneath it all, I believe. Not that I would know, of course, I mean how much do I know him really? I still don’t know his last name! But I mean when you get down to it names aren’t that big of a requirement for frien- nope! Nope! I will not say it! I will not get my hopes up! I will not say the ‘f’ word, Maggot!"

Michael has gotten his hopes up.

*

“Hey Michael?”

“Yes?”

“Call me Gerry, won’t you? I’ve always wanted my friends to call me that.”

It takes a considerable moment for Michael to piece himself back together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry really needs to get rid of this cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its loving Gerry hours, lads.

Gerry is standing in the doorway to Cahyo Phillips’ apartment. The apartment smells fucking _gross_ , like disease and just, _rotting_ shit. There are clothes and sheets strewn about and some of them seem to be moving, in slow, fevered twitches, like the apartment itself is sick. That’s not what Gerry’s worried about, however.

Cahyo stands by the window, eyes gaunt and jaundiced. He’s got a thin book in his hand. Gerry’s Leitner, in fact; the one he had _bought_ fair and square. Cahyo is waving the book around and babbling on with an absurd amount of energy for a man in his condition. The window is open, revealing a stunning view of the alleyway and adjacent building, and the breeze is blowing the clammy stench of the man right into Gerry’s face.

“C’mon, mate,” Gerry says, annoyed, “we had a deal. Give me the book.”

“This thing’s fuckin' evil, man. I dunno even why you want this thing, like, ever since I got it, right, I’ve just been hacking up a whole lung, I swear. And even m-…” the man continues.

“I know its evil, that’s why- oh whatever,” Gerry mutters. “Can you just listen for a sec? I really need that book and I gave you _so_ much money for it, remember?” Gerry pauses to see if anything he says is landing. It’s not. He raises his voice, “Please, can I have the book? Please!”

“No way. Not even would I give this piece of shit to my worst enemy! Look I gotta destroy this thing, I gotta-,” with this Cahyo seems to have a brilliant idea, and flings the book out of the window behind him.

A stillness seems to blanket the apartment for a second before Cahyo breathes a sigh of relief, opening his mouth to speak.

Before he can, Gerry is gone, boots hammering down the stairwell as he makes his way to the alley below, a ‘thanks you fucking idiot’ hanging in the air behind him.

The dingy alley is streaked in filth and is honest to god a breath of fresh air after the horrors of the apartment above. Gerry searches in and behind dumpsters for the small volume, getting increasingly impatient, when he finally finds it on the ground a couple metres before the alley comes to an end. There’s a cat sitting on it.

The cat is at least as gross as the alley it inhabits, is holding a dead rat in its mouth, and seems in no hurry to remove itself from the book.

Gerry takes a step toward it, intent on shooing it away when the book begins to shake. Or vibrate. Or pulse. Whatever; the book is doing _something_ , Gerry knows that much, and it’s not good. The cat remains sitting on it, and before long it’s eyes are starting to glow a sickly yellow, almost as if Gerry were shining a torch into them, and the rat in it’s mouth starts _writhing_ , spilling maggots from its mouth. They pour onto the book and pool around the cat’s paws, seemingly at home.

“Um, what the _fuck_?” Gerry says, corners of his mouth turned down in disgust. He watches as the cat vomits worms and other assorted gross shit from its mouth for one, long, unpleasant moment.

 _okay_ , Gerry thinks, _what can I do about this situation?_

He casts around for a second before his eyes land on a roughly cat sized crate, sitting next to a dumpster. He picks the crate up, keeping one eye on the cat, and approaches the situation. Taking it step by step, Gerry moves toward the cat, and it doesn’t seem to be registering his presence. Once close enough he gingerly places the crate over the cat, but not over the book, then shifts it so that the crate, and the cat with it, is now next to, instead of on top of, the Leitner.

“Okay,” Gerry says to himself, surprised it worked. He takes a bottle of lighter fluid and a lighter form his Leitner-hunting-go-bag and makes short work of burning the book. As the book burns the cat in the crate yowls angrily. He really hopes that this isn’t _hurting_ the cat, but the book has got to go.

Once the book is more ash than paper, the cat stops yowling, and goes suspiciously quiet.

“I probably shouldn’t do this,” Gerry says as he cautiously lifts the crate off the cat. 

The cat is sitting on the alley floor, eating a regular, dead, non-maggoty, rat. No worms or nothing.

_probably shouldn’t leave it here. Should probably tell Gertrude about it._

He sighs and picks the beast up, “C’mon then, maggot-man.”

*

The Institute is cold this early in the morning. So cold that Gerry finds himself holding Maggot close to him for the meagre warmth it provides. He thought about going home because of course Gertrude wouldn’t be here this early in the morning, but he didn’t really want Maggot in his apartment.

Once down in the Archives, Maggot starts to disagree with being held, and so decides to claw its way out of Gerry’s arms and zoom off down the hall, leaving a swearing goth in its wake.

Gerry’s got to catch it before Gertrude shows up, he doesn’t know what she’ll think if he accidentally loosed a demon cat into her place of business. He tracks the mangy thing through a maze of stacks of boxes and tapes and paper, before eventually hearing a yelp and a human sized weight slamming into the floor. 

Gerry follows the sound into a hallway wear he finds a blond man on the floor, limbs akimbo as he realizes that he just tripped over a cat. The man looks like he might be taller than Gerry with long limbs and a considerable amount of straw-colored curls drawn into a haphazard bun. Gerry stops to watch as the man, who must be Michael, if Gerry recalls Gertrude’s descriptions properly, reaches a hand out toward Maggot with a gentle curiosity in his grey eyes.

The cat skitters away from Michael, and Gerry scoops it up with ease, “I see you met Maggot, then.”

Michael realises he’s not alone and scrambles awkwardly to his feet, and, yes, he is quite a bit taller than Gerry. He stumbles through a hasty introduction/stern reprimand. Gerry would _really_ rather it not be so endearing.

 _He’s my age_ , Gerry finds himself noticing as he accepts a nervous offering of tea, _and Gertrude didn’t mention how cute he is. Of fucking course she didn’t, Gerry, that would have been weird._

*

Gerry soaks up as much of Michael’s company as he is able, enjoying a human presence that is not yet touched by an entity, and more importantly, isn’t Gertrude. Michael talks animatedly, delicate, long-fingered hands fluttering as he gets lost in his own anxieties. Michael makes a good cup of tea and his voice is clear and lilting. Michael has pale grey eyes and a laugh that Gerry really can’t get enough of. Gerry enjoys the normalcy of him, and-

 _Gerry_ , needs to stop himself from getting attached to the first human being he has talked to in a few months.

But Gerry really can’t help himself from coming in earlier and earlier, pretending not to notice just how early it is, just so Michael might make him a cup of tea, and maybe sit with him a while. He works hard to keep their conversations impersonal. The only thing worse than getting attached to another person, is that person getting to _know_ him. What if Michael decides Gerry’s just to big of a weirdo, and stops making him tea when he comes in? What if he thinks he’s a freak, and that his childhood trauma is not nearly as well hidden as he thinks it is? What if Michael just doesn’t _like_ who Gerry is?

And Gerry thinks Gertrude is starting to notice. She told him one day as she was casually reading a statement and sipping the tea that Michael made her, that she thinks she might take Michael on an excursion.

He tries really, so very hard, to keep his voice indifferent, “Planning to sacrifice another one, then?”

Judging by the knowing eyebrow Gertrude raises, he wasn’t very successful. “Don’t worry, I just need someone to accompany me to Shanghai to collect a couple artefacts at some point. We shan’t be harmed, if all goes well.”

“If all goes well,” he repeats.

*

He starts to see Michael around, outside of the Institute, and Gerry is sure this must be some cruel cosmic joke.

He sees him in a pub he likes to frequent when he’s feeling self-destructive. Michael is sitting in a booth, face perched on his hand and turned away from Gerry, laughing at something that someone is saying. Gerry almost approaches him before realizing he isn’t alone. It looks like some kind of impromptu work hangout, and Gerry would much rather not watch Michael smile at someone that is not him. 

Gerry reasons: he can’t join them, he doesn’t know them, and he can’t sit elsewhere in the small pub because Michael will eventually spot him, and Gerry doesn’t want Michael to see him drinking himself to unconsciousness. So, he leaves, but not before unfortunately catching Michael’s eye, and registering the frown about his eyes.

Gerry gets drunk alone in his apartment instead.

*

Gerry really doesn’t want to come across like an alcoholic but it’s less than two weeks later before he’s in the pub with the express purpose of getting shit-faced again. Michael is there too, but this time he’s alone, and sitting at the bar.

 _What the fuck_ , Gerry thinks, _tonight’s already a night of bad decisions, might as well make it worse_ , and takes the stool beside the blond archival assistant.

Gerry doesn’t want to fool himself into thinking that Michael’s expression is one of delight when he realises who is now beside him, but he’s having trouble coming up with alternatives. His belly feels warm, and he hasn’t even started in on the whiskey.

“Gerry! What a nice surprise,” Michael enthuses, “what brings you here?”

“Uhh, alcohol?” Gerry suggests.

Michael laughs like Gerry’s said something funny, making him wish he was a comedian. He laughs and puts a warm hand on Gerry’s arm. Gerry turns toward the bartender to order something, and to hide his hot face. With a drink in hand he looks to Michael, and sees one empty cocktail glass, and one that’s half full. He then looks at Michael’s slim frame and the hand on his arm and concludes that Michael is _tipsy_.

“What are you drinking?” Gerry asks as Michael’s hand finally slips away.

“Umm, you know I’m not quite sure,” he says, thoughtfully poking his straw through the pink liquid, “I think it’s got a fruit something in it.”

“Well I could’ve told you that,” Gerry says, Michael trills another laugh, and tries to smile at him around his mouthful of fruity cocktail. He doesn’t quite manage, and some of it ends up on Gerry’s shirt.

“Oh, no!” Michael giggles, and scrabbles for something to wipe at him with. Michael’s hands are on Gerry’s chest and shoulder and Gerry is trying really hard to keep his own hands by his side.

Satisfied that he’s done a good (terrible) job at cleaning Gerry up, Michael leans back with a healthy blush on his face, and Gerry really, does _not_ want to kiss him, at _all_. It’s not even like he looks particularly lovely with his golden curls free and twisting around his shoulders, and the soft orange light of the bar making his eyes glitter.

 _In fact, he looks really quite terrible_ , Gerry tells himself as he resigns himself to a night of saying things that aren’t funny, Michael periodically dissolving into giggles against his side.

*

“Oh, hello, Gerry,” Michael says, hiding his red face behind a lock of hair, when they see each other next at the Institute, “Gertrude isn’t in today.”

“I know,” he says, wincing at those implications, and leaves it at that.

“Oh,” Michael visibly fails at stifling a smile, “Would you like some tea, then?”

“Yes, thanks, Michael,” Gerry thinks he must look incredibly fond at the moment and can’t bring himself to school his face into something more work-place appropriate.

Gerry takes his usual seat in the Archives break room and watches as Michael flits around the kettle. Watches as he gets two mugs down from the shelf that only he can reach. One of them says ‘I went to hell and all I got was this shitty mug.’ It’s chipped and stained. The other one is pale yellow and has a cutesy design of a cat and sunflower on it. Gerry doesn’t remember seeing the first in here before he met Michael.

“So,” Michael starts, drawing the word out and taking his seat opposite Gerry. “Gertrude wants me to go with her on a little work trip to Shanghai this weekend.”

“I think she may have mentioned that.”

Michael seems to brighten at the prospect of potentially having been mentioned. “Yes, well, it’s all very exciting and it’s only a there-and-back sort of thing, so, I guess it doesn’t really matter, but, um-.”

“Michael,” Gerry says, “what are you trying to say? Do you not want to go? You can totally not go, in fact that’s probably saf-“

“No! I want to go, I do!” He’s started to wring his hands in that nervous way he has, “I just was wondering if you’ll babysit Maggie for me?”

“Babysit Maggot?” Gerry exclaims, “I just got rid of that thing, I don’t want it back!”

Michael looks scandalized. “’That thing’ is my beloved baby boy, and I will not allow his good name to be slandered like this!”

“First of all, he’s not a baby, he’s like 56 years old, and second of all, you know I’m not good with cats, why don’t you get someone proper?”

“Well, I thought maybe, since I won’t be here, you could use a little company, perhaps, because you know, I wouldn’t want you to get bored and go to the pub just because you have nothing else to do, and get alcohol poisoning again, and- what?”

“Are you calling me lonely? Alcoholic? You just called me a lonely alcoholic!” Gerry exclaims, mostly joking. Something in Gerry relishes the idea that Michael trusts him enough to babysit the street cat he offloaded onto him that one time, and something else inside him twists at the thought that he’s just so potently lonely that Michael noticed.

Michael gasps, “No! I’m so sorry, I did not mean it like that, it’s just, you know how I worry, and! I am so sorry, I did not mean to call you an alcoholic I mean, I’m not too much better myself…”

“Michael, Michael! I was kidding, I’m not offended,” Gerry hesitates before putting his hand over one of Michael’s, stilling it where it had been nervously tapping at his cup of tea. He notices for the first time that his nails are painted a deep shade of grey, not unlike Gerry’s trademark black, and his heart aches with… _something_.

“Promise?” Michael asks seriously.

“I promise,” Gerry replies. “And I’ll look after your cat.”

Michael smiles at him, and Gerry thinks that if he just kept looking at him like that, no one would ever need to mistake him for an alcoholic again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a lot of fun with this chapter, would love to know what y'all think. drop a kudos and comment if you feel so inclined and find me on tumblr @theroswellcrashsite :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael encounters a ghost. Gerry has a bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))

Gerry arrives early at Michael’s flat on the morning of his flight to Shanghai. The place is Small, with a small living area and small kitchen just down the hall from two small bedrooms. It’s small, but it’s nice, with various little candle holders, and nice, normal-people pictures spotted around the place. It’s also rather well insulated, and a good thing that is, as the days are losing their heat and light as November draws to an end.

Gerry is there at ten to seven, ten minutes before Michael asked him to be there. He knocks on the door and is met by a momentary silence followed by a veritable cacophony of noise. There’s various clattering, some plaintive meowing, and a high-pitched “Coming! Coming, hold on!”

The door swings open to reveal Michael, hair hanging in his face and sporting a rushed smile. “Sorry, Gerry, I’m running a little late, please come in!” 

Michael is the kind of person, Gerry’s noticed, that will get up early of his own accord, then complain about not being in bed. Gerry has tried pointing this out to him, only being met by a dismissive chuckle, a wave of the hand, and “But who would make the _tea_ , Gerry?”

So, it is 6:55 in the morning, and Gerry is standing in Michael’s kitchen, idly stroking Maggot’s forehead and watching Michael flit around his apartment with only one arm in its sweater sleeve and a litany of mundanities pouring from his mouth.

“-and there’s food in the fridge, obviously, where it should be, please help yourself, and if you should need it, the kitty litter is in the cupboard just under the sink there. I’m sure you know how to use a remote, what am I thinking, oh! I wrote the Netflix and Wi-Fi passwords down somewhere, I’ll text them to you anyway, and I think that might be about it… oh, and there’s towels in this cupbo-,” and so it goes.

“Rrrrow!” Maggot says.

“Yes, you’re right, he is going to be late,” Gerry replies.

At the interruption, Michael seems to start to slow down, eventually coming to a stop between Gerry and the front door, holding a duffle bag and what Gerry assumes is a laptop bag slung over a shoulder each. “Okay!” he expels on a sigh, “I think that’s everything, did I tell you everything you need to know? I could-.”

“No, no, no, no, I got everything just fine, no questions here, no sir,” Gerry says.

“Good! Good, okay. Um, well here’s the key, and, oh! I am running late,” Michael starts back up again, hands Gerry the apartment key, bounces forward slightly and plants a kiss on Gerry’s cheek… to the surprise of them both, apparently.

Michael’s eyes are wide, “Uhh, um.”

“Uhm, uh,” Gerry says in return.

“Well, okay. Bye!” Michael all but squeaks before dashing out the door. Gerry hears a faint ‘sorry’ from the other side of the door as it slams a little too loud.

Gerry sighs, and feels Maggot nudge his head into his elbow. “Sometimes life isn’t _so_ terrible, Maggot.”

Michael skids back in suddenly, “Forgot my phone!” he looks at Gerry with something that might be a grin or might be a grimace as he snatches his phone from the kitchen counter and races out the door once more.

“Close call, there,” Gerry says to Maggot, giving him the universal ‘yikes’ face.

“Mmmrp!” Maggot agrees.

*

It becomes somewhat of a routine, for them. Not the cheek kisses, unfortunately, that had been a glorious and awkward one-off that Gerry is startlingly desperate to have repeated. But the short ‘business’ trips become a not-infrequent occurrence. Gertrude will decide that her meddling is required half-way around the world, and she will whisk Michael off to Budapest, or Washington, and return him home (safely, thus far; Gerry still worries).

Gerry can’t pretend he isn’t glad to have Michael as something akin to a permanent fixture in his life. More permanent than most, at least. It’s nice having a… friend. Gerry isn’t really in the habit of making or keeping friends, but he feels like maybe he can make an exception, just this once, just for Michael.

Eventually, Gerry starts to stay the night on the still rare occasion that they get a drink (or 5) together, and Michael is delighted to find he’s still there on the sofa (where he’d insisted on staying even though Michael _does_ have a spare room) when he wakes the next morning, hungover and sore from stumbling on the pavement.

One day, Michael comes home from an uneventful day at the archives (quite dismally uneventful, in fact, Gerry hadn’t shown up at all, _and_ the kettle broke, so he couldn’t even disrupt the mundanity with a nice tea break) and Gerry is sitting on the sofa, glancing up at him guiltily when he realises he has company.

“Oh. What brings you by, Gerry?” Michael says coolly, unsure of how to deal with an unexpected goth in his living room.

Gerry laces his fingers together and looks to the side sheepishly, “I forgot my Netflix password and I was literally so close to finishing season 2 of Fargo. And I forgot to return your key from when you went to Quebec. Sorry, I’ll leave, I didn’t know you’d be back so soon, you’re usually working so late…” he makes to get up.

Michael drops the cool façade, “No, no! It’s fine, really. Would you like some tea?” he carefully doesn’t mention how tired Gerry looks, like he hasn’t slept in days, like he’s exhausted to his bones. It had been a couple days since Michael had seen him, and he wonders what he could have been doing. He knows Gerry does some weird shit when Michael’s not around, and he’s fine with that, really, but it wouldn’t kill Gerry to take care of himself from time to time.  
Gerry sags gratefully back into the couch, clearly relieved; a little too much for him to only have been worried about finishing some Netflix show, “Thanks, Michael, really.”

“Oh, nonsense! You’re always welcome. In fact,” _what would you say to moving in with me?_ , Michael wants to say. Instead he finishes with, “How about you spend the night?”

Michael sighs quietly to himself at his cowardice. Surely Gerry moving in, isn’t such an outlandish idea? They know each other well enough, right? I mean there are still glaring holes in Gerry’s personal life that Michael doesn’t even dare to hope he will ever be privy to, but they are firmly, definitely, in the friend category. Michael knows this, and he’s happy to stay there until Gerry sees fit to move on. Michael can’t pretend he dreads the idea of never seeing Gerry again, but he’s quite content to put that out of his mind, and instead relish the time they have together.

The day after Gerry spends a night at Michael’s, Michael finds a conspicuously black sweatshirt on the couch, something he would never consciously buy for himself, and has to fight the intense urge to see what it smells like, or rather who it smells like.

(He gives in to the temptation and wrinkles his nose at the scent of cigarette smoke. He holds onto it a little longer than he should anyway, daydreaming about Gerry moving in, and being his _flatmate_ , until Maggie yells at him to feed him.)

*

Michael is in India this time. He and Gertrude were there to track down a particular antique pistol used in the wars, that seems to have a rather nasty effect on those who have used, or even handled it since. It had been hot-potato’d between Britain and India several times and was currently being kept in a large storage facility. A storage facility that Gertrude has somehow gained access too.

Michael doesn’t know exactly how Gertrude had managed to do so, but Michael had felt it best not to ask questions, as she unlocked a large, nearly empty storage container. It was quite odd that the pistol was sitting on the floor, completely unpackaged and unprotected, but Michael didn’t really get a chance to think about the implications of that as he was quite rudely stabbed in the arm by what he can only describe as a ghost.

The rest is rather blurry in Michael’s recollection, so he doesn’t know just how Gertrude, as old as she is, got out without a scratch. As it stands, they are in a hospital, Michael receiving stitches, and Gertrude idly flipping through a case file in the chair beside the hospital bed.

“You know I’m not quite sure you seeing Mr. Keay so regularly is a good idea, Michael,” Gertrude says abruptly.

Michael thinks he might blush if he hadn’t lost a considerable amount of blood over the last two hours. As much as he would do anything for Gertrude Robinson, he does _not_ want to entertain this conversation, so instead of a coherent reply he says, “You know, this might be low-key racist, but the ghosts here in India are a rather angry lot, aren’t they?”

She goes on like he hadn’t spoken, “In fact it’s rather inconvenient for all parties, you two being involved. He’s not your regular goth, you know.”

Michael can’t help a little flutter in his belly at the notion that he and Gerry are ‘involved’ in any way. “We’re not; involved that is. And no, I wouldn’t know, I haven’t known that many goths before, Gertrude.”

She doesn’t say anything more and for a second Michael worries she’s taken offense at his snippy tone, but then he concludes that he is much too tired and injured to be worrying about that.

*

Gerry is supposed to be in Michael’s apartment right about now, feeding Maggot his dinner.

Gerry is not in Michael’s apartment; he is in another alleyway. And he is being pursued at an uncomfortably fast pace by a _really_ buff Asian woman and a number of other followers of the Lightless Flame. They really want the Leitner he’s just stolen from them, and Gerry really doesn’t know why because it’s a Dark Leitner, not a Desolation, but all that really matters is that they want it, and that Gerry is running and he is getting very tired of doing so.

He ducks into an alleyway and takes refuge behind a large dumpster. Gerry needs to destroy this thing; quickly. He can’t _burn_ it, Perry and her lot are all about burning shit, so it follows that that can’t be a good idea, right? Could he melt it in acid or something? No, that takes time and where would you even find a large amount of acid in central London at 1 in the morning?

Gerry is broken out of his frantic musings by a growing, uncomfortable warmth at his back: the dumpster he’s hiding behind is getting hot. He looks up to see none other than Jude Perry beaming maliciously down at him from atop the dumpster.

Gerry _runs_ , and his legs are _aching_ , but he needs to get far enough away from them to destroy the Leitner. He can feel the air around him getting supernaturally warm for a mid-December evening, and Gerry knows he can’t get away fast enough. In a fit of desperation, Gerry opens the book and starts just _tearing_ the pages out as he runs.

He hears shouts of rage behind him, but he can’t bring himself to care because this might be working? The book seems to be fighting back, though. Impossibly black tendrils are oozing from the book and whipping at his face. He keeps tearing and ripping even as he feels the bottom of his jeans catch fire, until there’s no pages left. With the last of his strength he rips the cover in half, straight down the spine, and mass of darkness erupts from the fissure. 

It seems to clash with the malicious light emanating from behind him in something not unlike an explosion. It is _incredibly_ painful, and Gerry suddenly can’t see.

*

Gerard Keay jerks into wakefulness at around 3 am, in an empty alley, with blistering burns on his ankles and a pounding headache behind his eyes. But he isn’t blind. Gerry almost laughs with relief when he realises that the reason he couldn’t see was because he’d just passed the fuck out.

 _Oh, fuck, wait. Perry!_ Gerry scrambles to his feet and ignores the way his legs wobble as he casts around the alley for evidence of what may have happened. There is no evidence that any other human, ahem, _humanoid_ beings, were here, but there is the blackened hard cover of the Leitner. He toes it hesitantly with his boot and it crumbles easily, floating away on the low breeze. 

Well, he accomplished what he’d set out to do, Gerry supposes, even if he doesn’t know exactly how he survived it. _Guess I’ll go home and feed Maggot, then._

Gerry stumbles up the few flights of stairs in the block of flats with no small amount of effort from his burning legs, and startles himself with the realisation that he’d just thought of Michael’s apartment as home as he lets himself in.

Maggot greets him loudly. Gerry knows Maggot doesn’t care that he nearly died in a supernatural explosion of darkness and flame; he just wants to be fed, but something about being needed in any capacity makes Gerry aware of a lump in his throat that he recognises has been there since he woke up. 

Gerry makes quick work of turning on all the main lights in the flat. He turns the telly on, too, because he needs the background hum of normal people. He unplugs every lamp he can find (7) and manages to get them all set up in the living room. Once he’s satisfied the dark won’t fuck with him again tonight, he feeds Maggot. Maggot eats wolfishly, and Gerry finds that he is starving himself, and allows himself a banana before he takes a shower.

Gerry showers longer than he remembers ever having showered before. And with the TV mumbling quietly in the living room, it almost sounds like Michael could be out there waiting for them.

_Fuck, I miss him._

Gerry watches the soot and dirt and sweat swirl down the drain as he thinks about the archival assistant. He thinks that if he got out of the shower and Michael were there in the living room, he might cry. Gerry’s had too much darkness for now; he needs some light, or someone that makes him feel like he might be worth that light.

He eventually emerges, steaming, from the bathroom and spies a bright sweater lying discarded on the bed. _It’s not weird_ , he tells himself, _and it’s not like I brought a change of clothes_.

*

Michael arrives back at his flat at 6 in the morning. It’s early enough for the streetlamps to still be on, but the sky is a lovely shade of grey, and Michael thinks it would be really nice if he could just make himself some tea, stare out the wind and try not to think about how he got stabbed by a ghost.

It takes a couple tries to unlock his apartment with his preferred arm all bandaged up, but once he manages, he becomes aware of a warm glow buzzing from his living room.

He finds Gerry asleep on the couch, facing the telly, which is turned on to some cooking show, volume low. Maggot is perched impossibly atop his shoulder. All of Michael’s assorted lamps are plugged into the same power outlet via several unsafely connected extensions. They are all turned on as bright as they will go. Michael can’t bring himself to care about the electrical bill.

Gerry looks terrible, Michael notices. His eyes are rimmed in black as always, but the eyeliner is a lot messier than usual, and there’s a considerable amount of mascara smeared around. His hair is messy and tied up and still damp, and from beneath the blanket Michael can see that he’s wearing one of his ugliest sweaters, and a pair of black jeans that smell like burning.

Michael sighs and makes his way to the kitchen to make that tea. Gerry’s weird shit must have really gotten to him last night. Nothing a good cup of tea won’t fix. Actually, that’s probably not true.

A furry body brushes against him and he smiles as Maggot purrs his way through a figure 8 around his legs, “Hello, Maggie! Did you take good care of Gerry while I was away? Good boy.” The cat darts off, back in the direction of the living room, and Michael goes to follow him with the two mugs of tea, when he finds Gerry standing there. He looks like he really shouldn’t be awake, but Michael does like to see him wear his sweater.

“Are you alright, Gerry?” Michael asks, and extends a cup toward him.

Gerry shuffles forward, takes both mugs from him and sets them down.

“Wha-,” Michael’s query is cut off by Gerry wrapping his arms around Michael’s waist and drooping against him, pressing them both back into the counter.

Michael doesn’t move for a solid 5 seconds, frozen in shock that Gerry is _hugging_ him, with his strong arms, before eventually returning the gesture and squeezing Gerry closer, resting his cheek against Gerry’s damp hair- it smells like Michael’s shampoo.

After a long moment where Michael thinks Gerry may have fallen asleep standing up, he goes to speak, “Are you…” he stops when Gerry leans back enough to look Michael in the face, hazel eyes full of sleepy contentment.

“I really fucking missed you, Michael,” he says. He’s not smiling, but he’s not _not_ smiling, either.

“Oh.” Michael says. And because he can think of nothing else to do, he puts his hands on either side of Gerry’s face and leans down to place a slow chaste kiss on his lips. He doesn’t even mind that Gerry kind of tastes like melted cigarettes, because Michael is _kissing Gerry._

Holy shit, _Michael Shelley is kissing Gerry Keay._

He pulls back quickly and opens his mouth to start apologising. Before he can, Gerry shakes his head and puts a finger on Michael’s lips, and Michael notices that he’s smiling.

Michael releases a shaky breath, “Good?”

“Yeah,” Gerry says, tugging Michael down to meet his lips again, “good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some discussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prepare

“So,” Gerry says. He’s still holding Michael, and they’re propped against the kitchen counter while Maggot winds lazily around their legs. They are both blushing furiously and smiling like idiots. “That happened.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of Michael and he ducks down to bury his face in the crook of Gerry’s shoulder.

Gerry wonders at the events in his life that led him to this moment; so tired and hungry, yet literally the happiest he can ever remember being, holding one beautiful archival assistant in his too small kitchen with their cat yelling at them for breakfast.

 _Woah,_ Gerry thinks, Maggot is _their_ cat.

Last year, or hell, even three months ago, if you had told Gerry that he would fall in love with a man because he gave him a mangy cat, Gerry would have told you to get the fuck out of his apartment, how did you get in here? And even though it seems crazy, now that it’s actually transpired, it’s like that’s the only way it ever could have happened.

Gerry hums a content sigh as Michael fiddles with the hem of Gerry’s sweater, or: the sweater that Gerry is wearing; Michael’s sweater.

“You’re wearing my sweater,” Michael says. Gerry wants to melt into Michael’s sweet voice forever. “Why?”

Gerry chuckles, “That’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” Michael says, “and now that you’re my boyfriend,” (said with no small amount of finesse), “I feel like maybe you could, possibly, perhaps, potentially, tell me what you do for a living, perchance?”

Gerry stills for a second, pausing the subconscious circles he’d been drawing on Michael’s back. He should tell Michael some things, yes, because even as broken down and dysfunctional Gerry is, he’s seen enough reality tv to know that _good_ relationships should be built on mutual trust and open communication. That shit is so _hard_ , though.

Gerry realises he’s made a mistake in thinking so long, because Michael immediately starts to backtrack and second-guess himself: “Sorry! My god, that was so forward, wasn’t it? We don’t have to put _labels_ on it, or anything, not that I wouldn’t like to, it’s just that I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and if you are, I understand, just-.”

“No, no! Michael, stop. It’s fine, I- um,” Gerry struggles to force the words out. This whole vulnerability thing is still so very new to him, “I would love to be your boyfriend. If you’ll have me. I was just thinking about all the things I would have to explain to you to be able to then explain what it is that I do,” Gerry takes Michael’s hands, and rubs his thumbs lightly into the backs of them.

Michael smiles coyly at this and nods, “Alright. Well I do still have all that time I mentioned earlier. So, whenever you’re ready, I suppose.” Michael plants a quick kiss on Gerry’s forehead, and draws him into another hug. Gerry figures hugging isn’t gonna be something Michael will stop doing, and he is very, very, okay with that.

“I better tell you know, before I lose the nerve. Bit of a warning: I’m tired as fuck, so I may be a little incoherent.”

“That’s alright, Gerry, I’ve already made the tea.”

They move into the living room, where the lamps and tv are still on as bright as they will go and take a seat on the couch. The morning has progressed enough to see by just the natural light, but something about the way Michael had found Gerry makes him reluctant to suggest turning the lamps off. He does mute the telly, though.

“So. To summarise, I track down and destroy evil books.”

Michael makes a face like if he were trying to read a 5-year-old’s hand-writing while eating a lemon at the same time. He quickly smoothes his expression out when he recalls all the statements made to the institute, far crazier than ‘I hunt books,’ that Gertrude has always taken completely seriously.

“Okay, okay, hear me out.”

“I’m keeping an open mind. Evil books, please, go on.”

“Let me back up a bit. There is, in this world, or I should say in this reality, beings which, um, bring fear to people, and feed on that fear, because they are terrible and evil shitheads. And they each have their own sphere of, uh, interest, I suppose, and there’s 14 of them. For example, there is the Eye; the Ceaseless Watcher, whatever. The Magnus Institute, well, it is an agent of sorts, to the Eye.” Gerry serves this last statement with a ‘what are you gonna do?’ look.

Michael had been listening very intently up until then, at which point his eyes had widened in horror and he had begun to flap his hands about uselessly, “Wait a second, wait a second, if the Institute serves the Eye, and I serve the Institute, does that mean I-.”

“Yes, you serve the Eye. Sorry,” Gerry winces, shrugs, and pats Michael’s shoulder apologetically. “My condolences.”

“Am I going to turn into a monster??” Michael says, voice several octaves higher than usual.

“No! Sorry, I should explain better, sorry. Some people are _marked_ by one of these, uh, entities, and if they don’t do something drastic to escape falling into the powerful will of those entities, they will become what we in the biz call ‘avatars.’”

Michael takes a shaky sip of tea. “Alright. Alright, that makes sense. But where do you come in? Are you, I mean, you’re not…?” Michael trails off and looks pointedly at Gerry’s eye covered hands.

“Oh, no! I don’t serve the Eye, no sir, or any entity for that matter; gross!” Gerry chuckles, stopping when he sees Michael’s very serious expression, “No, I got these, well, to piss of my mum, to be quite honest. But the extent of my childhood trauma is for another time, I think.”

Michael takes Gerry’s hand and squeezes, nodding firmly, “Okay: 14 fear entities, you don’t serve any, evil books. What else?”

“So sometimes instead of people, the entities will tie themselves to things like old trinkets or books. There was one guy, a really, really, shitty old guy, who thought it’d be a good idea to collect these books, so he did and then he did a bad job at keeping them, so they got out, and they wreaked havoc, people died. His name was Jurgen Leitner, and he fucking _sucked_.”

“And you destroy the evil books he once collected?”

“Yes. And that’s about it really.”

“What are the other 13 entities?” Michael asks.

Gerry lets out a long-suffering sigh, and begins, “Well…”

*

It’s almost afternoon by the time Gerry has answered every question Michael can think of. (“Wow, Gerry, you sure do know a lot about this stuff, you should write a book.” “I would rather die.”) Gerry’s eyes are drooping, and Michael doesn’t look to be in a much better state, having not slept on the plane.

“Bedtime?” Michael asks when Gerry stands from the couch, making grabby hands at his new goth BF.

Gerry wraps his hands around Michael’s wrists and pulls, earning a startled yelp of pain from Michael.

“What? Are you hurt? What happened? Did _I_ do something, I’m so sorry, shit, Michael,” Gerry blabs helplessly and his hands hover over Michael, not wanting to touch in case he makes things worse, and not wanting to _not_ touch because Michael is hurt and Gerry _needs_ to fix it.

“Fuck me!” Michael curses for what Gerry thinks might be the first time, “I forgot I’d been stabbed!”

“ _WHAT_.”

“Oh, close your mouth, you’ll start catching flies,” Michael says, “India has some really terrible ghosts.”

“You were _stabbed_ by a _ghost_? Are you okay?”

Michael giggles, “Yes, I’m okay. Now can we please go to bed, I’m _knackered._ Oh, but one more thing. Will you move in with me?” Michael surprises himself with the lack of fretting he puts himself through before he can force those words out.

“Mo- You want me here? Even after everything I just told you?” Gerry asks incredulously.

“Of course, silly, who else will protect me from the big bad fear demons?” Michael pouts sarcastically.

Gerry chuckles and brings Michael’s face down to press their foreheads together, “Okay, Michael, I’ll move in with you. Now, can we please go to sleep?”

“I would like nothing more.”

*

It’s a Friday evening, and Gerry has just had a long day of Leitner hunting, and Michael has just had a long day of archival assisting. It’s late and there are no lights on save for one lamp on the bedside table that had been relocated to the bedroom. Michael is straddling Gerry’s hips, and is peppering kisses along his neck and jaw. Michael grinds down into him and Gerry can’t help but emit an embarrassing whine.

“Fuck me,” Gerry whispers fervently, running his hands down the length of Michael’s spine and coming to rest on his hips where they move gently against him.

“That can be arranged,” Michael giggles into his ear, and Gerry would be blushing furiously, if he could spare any blood for his face.

Gerry dips his hands into Michael’s mess of curls and kisses him deeply, “Michael, you are a sexy, sexy, man,” Gerry says, and Michael laughs that intoxicating laugh again, but quieter, and a great deal more subdued.

“Sorry, did I say something?” Gerry says softly into the growing space between them.

Michael sighs, and strokes Gerry’s face in what can only be described as a loving manner. “Yes, actually, and I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.”

Michael slips off him, and onto his side. He waits for Gerry to turn and face him before lacing their fingers together. “You were so brave, opening up to me like you did, about your whole ‘family business’ deal. Gerry, I’m… really proud of you, and I love what we have here but I think… yes, I think I need to tell you something before we can go any further.”

Gerry has never heard Michael sound so serious and _calm_ about, well, anything before and he can’t help but feel just a little concerned. But he had said ‘before we go further,’ so he can’t be breaking up with him, can he? Gerry takes a deep breath and lets it out before speaking.

“Okay. I’m listening.”

Michael takes his own deep breath in, “I don’t-,” he pauses and lets the breath out. He closes his eyes briefly and Gerry is starting to get _proper_ worried now, so he squeezes Michael’s hand. Michael says shakily, “I’m not a man.”

Gerry relaxes, “Oh.” He’s still my boyfriend, that’s fi- wait, not boyfriend. _Oh, no_ , Gerry realises, _I’ve misgendered the love of my life!_

“Oh! I called you a man! I’m so sorry, Michael, I would never intentionally- I am so sorry. Is there anything you prefer instead? Pronouns?” Gerry says frantically. _How could he have been so stupid?_

Michael sags with relief, “Oh, thank god, you’re okay with it.” He surges forward and presses their lips together. 

“Hey, hey, Michael,” Gerry holds Michael away from him gently, mindful of his stab wound, “no one has the right to not be okay with it, alright? _You_ get to decide who you are, no one else, got that?”

Michael nods. His eyes are teary, but he’s smiling wide.

“Now, do you have any preferred pronouns?”

Michael shakes his head, “I really don’t mind about those. Anything’s fine. It’s just- I am _not_ a man, and I’m not a woman either.”

“Okay. I understand. Whatever you might be, however much you change, I won't leave you,” Gerry brushes the tears away from his face and tenderly kisses Michael’s eyelids. “Michael?”

“Yeah?” Michael sniffs.

“I love you.” 

Gerry is not prepared for the completely _bewildered_ expression on Michael’s face. “You love me?” he asks, in the same tone someone might say “You _ate_ your shoes?”

Gerry frowns, “Michael, of course I love you. I might be bad at showing it or saying but… Surely it can’t be that shocking?”

“Well, yes, we’re together _now_ , and you _think_ you might love me, and of course I obviously love you back, but I- I’m not worth it!” Michael laughs at this, almost hysterical, “I don’t deserve it, Gerry, I don’t, I-.”

“Michael, Michael, hey,” Gerry repeats his name until Michael finally stops and looks at him, “what are you talking about, of course you deserve it? Where is this coming from? Did something happen?” Gerry takes hold of Michael’s hand and gently guides him to sitting.

“No! You’ve done nothing wrong! It’s just… It’s always been a matter of time, hasn’t it?” Michael is close to incomprehensible through the tears.

“Matter of time? ‘til what? I leave you?” Michael lets out a harsh sob at this, “No. No, Michael, I’m not going to leave you. Please, how can I convince you that you deserve to be loved?” Gerry wraps his arms around Michael and lets him cry into his shoulder until he gains enough composure to speak.

“I’m sorry, I just-,” Michael sniffs wetly, and clutches at Gerry’s shirt.

“Michael, this is so sudden. Are you sure something didn’t happen?”

“Yes, I- It’s just that, well, no one’s ever treated me quite as well as you have,” his voice starts to go wobbly again, so Gerry tries his best to rub soothing circles into his back, “I can’t help but feel like you leaving me is just around the corner.”

“ _Michael,_ ” Gerry says, combing his fingers through his curls, “I am not going to leave you.” He chuckles sardonically, “Looks like we both have some deep-seated trauma we need to work through.” Michael gives a watery laugh.

They stay like that for a long while, until Michael lets out a long, shuddering sigh, and stops holding on so tightly.

“So,” Gerry says, “If you aren’t my _boy_ friend, what are you?”

Michael giggles at this, “Gerry’s special friend,” he says in a silly voice.

“Oh, you’re special, alright. You’re special, Michael. I promise.”

Another shuddering sigh, “Thank you.”

*

“That’s an interesting bruise, Michael,” the receptionist at the Institute, Melissa, says cheekily, “where’d you get it? Run neck first into a doorhandle?”

“Oh, shut it,” Michael replies, definitely not grinning a mile wide.

*

“Fuck, Gerry!” Michael gasps.

He’s flat on his back, and his legs are flung over Gerry’s shoulders, and he cannot believe he missed out on this just to have a mental breakdown last week. Gerry is rocking into him at a torturously slow pace, and Michael really can’t find the patience in him to put up with it. He pushes at Gerry’s shoulder and rolls them over so that he can set the pace. Gerry looks delightfully pleased as Michael presses his shoulders down into the mattress.

Gerry must admit, he would not have gambled on Michael having such a filthy mouth in bed, but he is _here_ for it. He runs his nails down Michael’s back to elicit a keening moan from him. Gerry watches as Michael works himself to the edge, curls twisting beautifully around his shoulders.

“Oh, marry me, Gerry, fuck!” Michael says.

Gerry forces himself not to think about that, and instead flips them over again, burying his face in Michael’s neck and pushing into him faster and faster until they’re both completely spent.

They lay there for a solid minute before they both try to speak at the same time:

“About what you-.”

“So, that was-.”

Michael laughs and runs his hands through Gerry’s hair. He should really get a proper dye job. “What was that?”

“Did you say what I think you said? Just now?” Gerry asks, running a finger along Michael’s jawline.

Michael chuckles again, and presses a slow, wet, kiss to Gerry’s lips, enough to thoroughly distract him. “Don’t worry about it, Love.”

Gerry doesn’t worry about it for the rest of the night- he is far too preoccupied.

*

Gerry is standing in the kitchen of their small apartment, once again watching Michael run around, frantically trying to throw everything he needs together for his upcoming work trip.

“So where are you going this time?” Gerry asks, scooping Maggot’s breakfast into his bowl. It’s all very domestic.

“Umm, Sannikova, Sannikov Land, something like that?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, I don’t even know where it is really, I couldn’t even find it on a map. But Gertrude’s getting some ship captain to boat us out there, so I think this might be a bit of a longer trip than usual. I think his name is Luke, or Lukas or something?”

“Oh yeah, didn’t that guy get his whole career publicly just, like, shat on in the papers, or something? Yeah, I think he owes Gertrude a favour; no idea how they know each other.”

“I hope Gertrude has packed enough coats, she said it would be really cold there.”

“Michael, she’s 80, not helpless.”

“You know I can’t help but worry! What if she gets sick? She’s at that age you know, if you get sick, you could actually die from it.”

“And good riddance!”

“Gerry!” Michael says, scandalised, “You are so rude, sometimes.”

He shuffles into the kitchen with his two full suitcases and pulls Gerry into a tight hug. He buries his face in Gerry’s hair. It’s freshly dyed so it’s very soft and smells strongly of chemicals, and Michael doesn’t have the heart to tell him he missed a couple patches again.

“Take care of Maggie, won’t you? Don’t forget to feed him just because you nearly got killed by another cult.”

“Psshh, he can take care of himself, besides, you’re coming back.”

“Of course,” Michael says, and leans down to kiss Gerry firmly on the mouth. Gerry tastes like toothpaste and tea, and Michael takes his time to memorise it, before he reluctantly pulls away.

“Go! Or you’ll be late,” Gerry pushes him toward the door. Michael laughs.

“Ok, I’ll see you soon. Bye, Love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to interpret the ending however you want. There will be a Part 2 up soon centred around fuckhands mcmike himself, so stay tuned.  
> yell at me @theroswellcrashsite

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think! kudos and comments are very much appreciated and if you ever wanna yell at me about anything i am on tumblr! @theroswellcrashsite


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